


the role of a partner

by carefulren



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Detective Dad and Android Son, Deviant Connor, Family, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, dad hank and son connor, in which Hank is the best partner any android could ever have, sick!connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 16:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Hank panics when Connor doesn't show up at the diner where they agreed to meet, so he goes to Connor's house to find the android still in bed with some sort of super fever.





	the role of a partner

When Hank pulls into the driveway of the small house, he doesn’t get out of the car. He remains in his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles fade to an off-white because Connor didn’t show up. 

Connor: the android who, despite being deviant, values punctuality didn’t show up even though he knew and cleared the time and place Hank had set. It was supposed to be two p.m. at their usual diner joint, and while Hank went strolling in at 2:15, Connor wasn’t there, and he still wasn’t there at 2:30 or 2:45. 

Hank tried calling him on the phone he insisted Connor keep on him for safety precautions, but Connor didn’t answer, and he always answers. 

So, Hank could get out of the car now, but he needs a minute; he needs to allow himself a moment to consider that something happened, that Connor left the city or someone who doesn’t like him slipped in and assassinated him. Hank just needs a second to mentally walk through worst case scenarios to prepare himself so he’s not blindsided when he lets himself into Connor’s small house to find Connor dead or gone. 

His eyes slip closed, and he sucks in a few deep, measured breaths, each one easing his heart rate until he’s able to turn his car off and get out without feeling as if he’s making his way toward a full-blown panic attack. 

He has a key to Connor’s house, just as Connor has a key to his– he doesn’t want another broken window, that was an expensive fix– and he lets himself in. It’s oddly quiet and still in Connor’s house. Usually, Connor’s got the TV going or he’s loudly singing along to some song he’s finally able to listen to just for enjoyment as opposed to work. 

But, there’s nothing. There’s only silence, and Hank’s breath catches in his throat as he calls out. “Connor?”

For a moment, there’s only silence, only Hank’s gruff voice faintly echoing back at him, but then he hears a weak, strained “Hank?” and he’s taking long, loud strides to Connor’s bedroom, where he finds Connor actually in the bed buried under covers yet still shaking. 

“Connor? What the fuck happened?” Hank moves from the doorway to the bed and looks down, a frown plastered to his lips because Connor looks tired and ill, and he has no idea how that’s possible because Connor’s a fucking android. He presses a palm to Connor’s forehead, finding it almost unbearably hot, and he jerks his hand away with a hiss. 

“What the hell is this, Connor? You’re burning up!” 

“My systems are working in overdrive because of a malfunction,” Connor starts, his teeth chattering through each word. “I haven’t had a routine maintenance check.” 

“I thought you droids were built to last for fucking years!” 

“We are,” Connor answers. ‘”But my model series requires maintenance checks twice a year because of the physical exertion we put on our bodies in the workforce.” He pauses, wincing a little. “If we aren’t checked and updated, our systems can malfunction.”  

Hank’s not liking any sound of this, but he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and waits for Connor to continue. 

“Right now, my Thirium 310 is sending inaccurate information to my thermoregulator biocomponent in two different locations.” 

“Meaning..?” 

“My programs are processing the misinformation from the thermoregulator and sending out extreme temperature differences to my head and my body. It’s not an uncommon malfunction, and I can fix it myself, but it takes some time.” 

Hank’s blinking slowly as he moves the blanket a little to press a palm to Connor’s arm. Even through the fabric of the long-sleeved thermal Connor’s got on, he can feel an icy burn coming from Connor’s arm, and he pulls his hand away, brows furrowing. “So the malfunction is basically some kind of super fever?”

“To an extent,” Connor says. “It’s definitely unpleasant, as I assume a fever is.” 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “They aren’t fun.” He watches as Connor moves a gaze to the ceiling and frowns at it with a slight tilt of the head. “Connor?” 

“When certain systems overheat, it can warp programming and make things appear that aren’t really there.” 

Hank looks up to the plain white ceiling then back to Connor. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“There’s someone coming out of the ceiling.” 

“Jesus, Connor!” Hank gets to his feet and shoots a sharp gaze to the ceiling, one hand moving instinctively to the gun that’s at his hip. “You’re fucking delirious right now!” He spits out when his eyes scan the bland ceiling. 

“Yes,” Connor says, and there’s something off in his tone, a muted hint of fear, and Hank looks back to see a color of panic in Connor’s eyes as the latter looks to the ceiling. 

“Connor, nothing’s there.” 

It takes Connor a long time to pull his gaze away from the ceiling and back to Hank. “I know,” he finally says, drawing out the word. “They just always look so real.” 

“They?” 

“The hallucinations brought on by warped programming,” Connor says, and Hank’s dropping back on the edge of the bed, worry coating his bones, his mind. 

“You have a lot of them?” 

“Yes,” Connor almost whispers. “They’re very distracting. It makes the repair longer.” 

Hank knows taking Connor to CyberLife is out of the question; there’s no way in hell he’s going to let that Amanda bitch anywhere near Connor, especially not when he’s in such a vulnerable state. 

He’s at a loss. It’s not like he can just make some soup and offer Connor medicine– this doesn’t work that way. 

“What can I do to help, Connor?” He cups a hand to Connor’s forehead once more, and Connor sighs and leans into the cool touch of relief, just slightly. 

“Stay,” he says. “It will help to have someone here to tell me that what I’m seeing isn’t real.” He pauses, blinking up tiredly at Hank. “It will take a while, though. It could be all day, and I don’t want you to–” 

“I’ll stay,” Hank says, already getting to his feet and pulling up a chair to Connor’s bed. He slips his gun from the holster and waves it in front of Connor’s eyes. “I’m not going to let any creepy things come out of the ceiling and get you, got it? You just do your repair shit, and I’ll stand watch.” 

“Hank, are you sure?” 

“Yep,” Hank says as he flops into the chair. “That’s what partners do, Connor. They watch out for one another.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me rattle on about shit in this like I actually know how androids operate, lmfao 
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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